


The Guardian

by fath



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, College Student Dean, F/M, High School Student Adam, High School Student Sam, M/M, Mary Lives, Nice John Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fath/pseuds/fath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Winchester was supposed to die that night, and she would have if Dean had not run into the room. When Dean ran in, a certain angel made a choice to intervene. Castiel, Dean's guardian angel, saves Mary Winchester from a horrible fate and keeps the Winchester family intact, at least for a little while.</p><p>Years pass and Sam Winchester, the middle child of three, is graduating from high school. His older brother, Dean, couldn't be prouder. His younger brother, Adam, could care less. Things are going well for the Winchesters... at first. </p><p>Dean starts getting nightmares about being chased by hounds only to be saved by a blue-eyed man with shadowy wings. Sam's best friend, Brady, is proving to be a bad influence and perhaps even dangerous. Adam struggles with his own visions of a man with yellow eyes who tells him to hurt people. </p><p>Something dark is coming, and the Winchester brothers, for once, are not prepared for what lies ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History is Altered

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is an idea I have been playing around with for a while. In this story, Mary lives, having been saved by Castiel, and still has her hunter background. John has no idea about monsters and neither do Sam, Dean, and Adam. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this story and please leave a comment or a kudos if you want. Remember to bookmark it too so you can get updates. :) I have a few chapters of this written out, and hope to have some kind of regular update schedule every few days. :)

“The Guardian Angel’s Lament” – A Catholic Prayer

 

Thou hast sorrowed the spirit that loved thee,

And watched o'er thy footsteps for years:

Thou hast made me at last sigh o'er thee,

In secret, in silence, and tears.

For my Father in Heaven I loved thee,

For His sake have I guarded thy ways.

Return, O return, I implore thee, Him to love, to serve, and to praise.

O'er thy pathway through life still I hover.

Thee to comfort, to solace, to cheer;

With the love of a fond, saving brother,

Through this desert of trial and fear.

Oh! When shall I clasp thee, how fondly

And bear thee, all dangers no past,

To the arms of God Who dies for thee

To our home in the heavens at last!

 

* * *

 

 

            “Mommy, there’s something in my closet,” the soft voice whispered into his mother’s ear. Mary Winchester kissed her son on the head before getting up from the bed. She ran a hand through her long, blond locks before going over to the boy’s closet on the other side of the room. Opening the door, she looked inside, smiling a little as she heard a soft, fearful gasp from behind her. Mary looked back to see Dean holding the covers over his head, shaking a little bit.

            “Look, Dean,” she said, pulling the clothes aside to expose the back wall. “No monsters in here, see?” Slowly, he lowered the blankets and looked fearfully into the closet. When he saw nothing was inside, he visibly relaxed although his tight hold on his teddy bear didn’t loosen. Mary closed the door and went back over to the bed. “Don’t worry Dean,” she said, mussing his hair. “There are no monsters in this house. I’ve made sure of it. And don’t forget, the angels are watching over you. They’ll always be there, even if you can’t see them, and they’ll protect you.”

            Dean laid back down, hugging his teddy bear close. Mary gave him another kiss before leaving the room. She walked down the hall to the nursery where her other son, Sam, slept. When she opened the door, she saw a masculine shape standing next to the bed. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned on the doorframe. “John?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Was he crying? I didn’t hear…”

            The figure half turned toward her and raised a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

            Mary raised her hands defensively. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Kiss him goodnight for me.” With that, she turned to head toward the bedroom she shared with John. Before she entered, however, she noticed the illuminated downstairs. Mary edged down the stairs cautiously. John rarely went up to spend time with the kids at night unless he was on his way to bed. And if John was on his way to bed, he never left the lights on. _Maybe he forgot,_ she reasoned, but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a familiar form dozing in the recliner. Her heart sank and her blood ran cold.

            “SAMMY!” she shouted, whipping around and sprinting up the stairs. Mary burst into Sam’s room to see the stranger next to Sam’s crib. His arm was extended over the boy, blood dripping from a wound in his hand. To Mary’s sickening horror, she saw that his blood was landing right in her newborn son’s mouth. The stranger looked straight at her, and that’s when she saw his yellow eyes. Her breath hitched and she took a fearful step back. “You,” she breathed.

            She knew this demon—she’d dealt with him in the past, and she knew he was not someone to be messed with. “Leave my son alone!” she demanded, although dared not make another move toward him.

            The yellow-eyed demon flashed a smile before reaching out toward her. Mary let out a scream as she was thrown against the wall. She felt a piercing, agonizing pain in her lower abdomen. Her body shook with fear as she felt herself being drug up the side of the wall, her feet dangling limply below her. She heard footsteps in the hall as someone came to her rescue. The person that appeared in the doorway was not the one she had been expecting—little Dean stood there, clutching tightly onto his teddy bear. When he saw Mary, his eyes widened. “MOMMY!”

            Suddenly, everything went white. The pain in Mary’s stomach dissolved, and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of ease. The whiteness was not blinding, nor was it painful on her eyes. It was a soothing type of white—a soft color that brought her inner peace. Then, she saw a vision before her—a man. He wore a suit with a blue tie and a tan trench coat. He walked toward her slowly, eyes bluer than the sea looking up at her beneath a mop of untidy black hair.

            “Mary Winchester.” He spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. The voice was not unpleasant but did have a serious tone to it. He gave her a small, almost guilty smile. “How are you feeling, Mary?”

            She stared at him a moment before looking down at her belly where the pain had been. Her hands experimentally poked and prodded until she determined that she was alright. “I’m okay… Who are you? Where am I?”

            The man straightened up a little bit. “I have been assigned to watch over you and your family, more specifically Dean,” he explained. “Dean is… very important to us. He was not meant to walk into that room, and when he did, I had no choice but to intervene to keep him safe.”

            “You…?” Mary began, her head spinning. “Who are you? Who is ‘us’? What is going on?”

            He sighed. “Mary, if I tell you, you must promise me that you can never tell John, Dean, or Sam. Do you understand?”

            She bit her lip before nodding. She had to know who he was and why he was watching her son.

            “My name is Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

            Mary faltered for a moment, her mouth falling open. “You’re… what?”

            “An angel,” he repeated. “My siblings and I are watching over Dean—the destiny he has ahead of him is… important to us. His decisions, his future—all of it is of great interest to us.”

            “Why?”

            He frowned a little, almost remorsefully. “That I cannot disclose. We are not meant to intervene like this, but your body was severely wounded by the demon. I had to take you somewhere safe so you and your son could properly heal.”

            “Dean? Sam?” she asked, her eyes widening. “They’re here? Where are they?”

            Castiel shook his head. “No, neither of them,” he said, now looking at her quizzically. “You don’t know?”

            Now it was Mary’s turn to be confused. “Know what?”

            Castiel glanced at her lower abdomen before meeting her eyes again. “You’re with child, Mary.”

            She froze. Subconsciously, her hand rested on her belly and she began to shake a little. She began to wonder what would have happened to her if Castiel had not saved her… if he hadn’t come in at all. Not only she would have died, but her child too. She hadn’t realized how indebted she was to this… angel until right then.

            “You saved us,” she whispered, making eye contact with him. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”

            Castiel nodded. “You are welcome. However, I’m afraid that I cannot intervene again unless Dean is truly in danger of dying. Everything that happens from now on, know that I am watching but powerless to help you or your family. I am not even supposed to be speaking with you now—it is forbidden for us to have contact with mortals. There will come a time when I will walk the earth again beside you and your family, but until then I must remain in the shadows.”

            Mary was still reeling from all the new information being given to her. She’d never encountered an angel before—in fact she had never even heard of hunters encountering them. But she believed. Looking at Castiel, she couldn’t _not_ believe that he was real. “Okay, Castiel.”

            He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. “Take care, Mary,” he murmured before the vision dissolved in white light once more.

            When she woke, she was back in Sam’s nursery with Dean and John hovering over her worriedly. “Mary?!” John was shouting. The fear in his vice slayed her and she forced herself to sit up. The pain in her stomach was gone but her brain still felt ungodly fuzzy. “Oh, Mary! Thank God!” John breathed, hugging her to him closely. “Are you alright? We were so worried!”

            She nodded weakly, hugging him back. “Yes… Yes, I’m okay. I just… I got kind of light-headed.” She pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek before pulling away. Her eyes briefly landed on Dean but only saw relief in them. _Maybe Castiel altered his memories so he didn’t see the demon_ , she thought. This soothed her, but then her guts turned to ice when she remembered the blood. She forced herself to get up and weakly make her way over to Sam’s crib. Her baby was lying there peacefully, wide awake. His eyes met hers and he gave her a toothless smile. He reached up for her, cooing softly. Mary forced herself to smile and pick him up. There was no trace of the blood, but she knew what she saw. Castiel hadn’t been in time to stop _that_ from happening. _Oh God,_ she prayed. _Protect my sons. Keep them safe from whatever those hellish monsters are planning. And if God is too busy… Castiel, please watch over us._


	2. The Boys Are All Grown Up

            Sam Winchester was the middle child and fell into the typical middle-child role of being looked over. He never complained—he knew that Dean needed more attention his senior year to make sure that he got all of his college stuff prepared. He knew that his parents often worried about Dean’s college antics and whether or not he was “being safe” with his plethora of girlfriends. He knew that Adam, who was just a year younger than him often got more attention since he was the baby of the family. He knew all this and was mature about it. Even though he did feel left out at times, Sam did his best not to let it get to him. He had his special moments like his birthday, the school dances, his first prom, and his high school graduation.

            The day of Sam’s high school graduation—May 27, 2001—was Sam’s day. It was his time to finally step forward and shine. Dean had graduated from Lawrence High School just four years early. A few more weeks and Dean would graduate from the University of Kansas and receive his degree in business. But that was a few weeks away. It was Sam’s turn.

            He waited outside the gymnasium, his stomach a bundle of nerves. Even though he was nervous, it was more anticipation than anything. It was that anxious excitement you feel when you’re on a rollercoaster, climbing that first big hill. That was how Sam felt—that he was climbing that hill and was just a few feet from the top. The moment the gym doors opened, he’d make it over the top of that hill after eighteen years of climbing.

            “Are you ready?” his best friend, Brady, asked. The boy stood beside him in the line, their last names both starting with W. Just because they were some of the last names to be called didn’t mean anything—Sam had been named Valedictorian and he would get to give a speech to the entire graduating class.

            Sam nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “I’ve waited for this my entire life,” he confessed with a shy smile. “I’m more than ready.”

            The graduation coordinator, some teacher Sam didn’t recognize, raised his hands for quiet. The sounds of the school band roared from within as the doors swung open. Sam balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. His nervous excitement grew until it was almost unbearable. But he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

            _This is it,_ he thought. _I made it._

 

            Dean Winchester sat next to his father in the bleachers of the Lawrence High School gymnasium. Once he graduated, he never wanted to “set foot in this hellhole again” as he had eloquently put it the day of his graduation. However, there were few things that Dean wouldn’t do for his little brothers. If making Sam happy meant coming to his graduation and watching him walk and receive his diploma, then Dean would be damned if he didn’t do it.

            “Can you believe little Sammy’s graduating?” Dean asked his father with a smile.

            John Winchester’s lips twitched if a smile was lurking below the surface, but it didn’t emerge. “Of course I can. Sam was the smart one—I never doubted he’d graduate… _You_ on the other hand…”

            Dean scoffed. “And now I’m graduating from college in two weeks. Bet you didn’t see that one coming!”

            A smile appeared then. “No, I didn’t… But I’m so glad you are.”

            Dean felt warm and fuzzy at his father’s compliment. They were rare, which only made them more meaningful. He glanced over at Adam who was sitting on the other side of John. The seventeen-year-old stared at the other people blankly. His blond hair that was lighter than Dean’s was growing shaggy. It wasn’t exactly Sam-level long, but it wasn’t short either. At least Sam looked decent with long hair, Adam needed to get his cut. “Next year, Adam,” Dean called across to his brother.

            The blond boy looked at his older brother before rolling his eyes and looking at the banners that hung from the gym’s ceiling. Dean snorted; Adam was in his angst-filled stage it seemed. He was only a year and a few months younger than Sam, being born in August, just a few months after Sam turned one. He had one more year of high school hell to endure before he was allowed to leave. Dean pitied him—he knew how crappy Lawrence High was and figured that the siblings of the same boys who picked on Dean were now picking on Adam too. That or he was just being a stubborn little shit.

            Dean looked over at Mary then, who was on the other side of Adam. He couldn’t see too much of his mother’s face, but he did see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Mom, it hasn’t even started yet,” he pointed out.

            Mary looked toward him before giving him a warm-hearted, teary-eyed smile. “I know… I just… I’m so happy for him. Valedictorian _and_ a full ride to Stanford! My sweet baby boy…” she trailed off, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

            Dean smiled a little—Sammy deserved this. Sam never got enough credit for anything he did, Dean knew that. He tried to make up for it and look after his little brother, but he had his own life to worry about, especially with college.

            He jumped when the band began to play, their sound echoing throughout the large gym. Dean sat up a little straighter when the doors opened and waited to lay eyes on his little brother.

           

            The commencement went off without a hitch. Sam received his Honors Diploma and gave his big speech about the future. He spoke about going off to college, about finding your path in life and playing your part. He spoke about destiny and fate, about angels and demons. It was the perfect speech that was downright movie-worthy. And Adam didn’t believe a word of it.

            He listened to his brother’s speech, the entire time trying not to roll his eyes at the sappiness. His mother was too caught up with her own emotions to notice Adam’s distaste. His father watched but bottled up his feelings inside. Dean’s eyes were glued to Sam and he was smiling like a proud idiot. Adam was the only one who was not impressed by Sam’s performance. When the ceremony was over, the Winchesters met up with Sam in the cafeteria after the ceremony. Adam watched with cold eyes as his older brother was received with hugs, kisses, and praise. Teachers, students, and school faculty came over and shook Sam’s hand and congratulated him on his full ride.

            Adam was shoved aside and completely forgotten.

            He knew that this was Sam’s day and he deserved it, but he couldn’t help but be bitter.

            Sam was the successful one.

            Sam was the smart one.

            Sam was the one who got a full ride.

            Sam was going to Stanford.

            Sam was going to be a lawyer.

            And then there was Dean—another older brother that was off to do better, more important things than Adam ever would.

            Dean was going to graduate from college.

            Dean was going to get a degree in business.

            Dean was going to become a businessman.

            Dean was going to own his own company.

            Dean was going to be rich.

            What about Adam?

            What was Adam going to do?

            A few people stopped to talk to Adam after seeing Sam. They spoke to him about his future mostly, almost all who spoke to him asked the same questions. “What about you? You’re graduating next year aren’t you? Where are you gonna go to school? What do you want to do?”

            The answer was always the same: “I don’t know.”

            And it was always followed by: “Well, you should start thinking about it—you’ll be a senior next year. You need to have a plan.”

            But all Adam heard was: “I figured as much. You could never fill your brothers’ shoes. Sam and Dean are going on to such great things and you’re just going to live in your parents’ basement until they die and you can take the house, aren’t you?”

            That was the last thing Adam wanted, but he knew it was a frighteningly likely scenario. He had no idea what he wanted out of life, what he wanted to do, what he wanted to study, where he wanted to go to school—none of that was figured out. He didn’t have answers because he had no idea what he wanted.

            Adam didn’t notice Dean had come up beside him until he felt his older brother’s hand come down on his shoulder. He jumped a little, looking at Dean with mild irritation. “What?” he snapped.

            Dean’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed a little. “What’s up with you lately?” he queried. Adam didn’t miss the sharpness in his brother’s voice.

            “Nothing,” he grumbled.

            He sighed, his grip on Adam’s shoulder tightening. “Now, I know that ain’t true.”

            Adam rolled his eyes and jerked away. “Stop, Dean,” he growled under his breath.

            “Hey!” Dean said sternly, but Adam ignored him, walking off toward the restroom.

            “I have to pee,” he mumbled, ignoring Dean’s sigh of exasperation.


	3. The Prelude to Reality

            Dean pelted through the trees. His breath came in rapid gasps and his legs were screaming in protest. But he couldn’t stop. He had to keep going. The howls that came from behind him only pushed him faster. Blood roared in his ears as he hurtled over fallen tree limbs. Branches scratched at his face and tendrils snagged on his jeans, slowing him down. Panic began to set in as the howls grew closer. The hounds were gaining.

            He didn’t feel tired, the adrenaline coursing through his veins only pushing him faster. And yet, as fast as Dean ran, he couldn’t distance himself from the blood-chilling howls. He didn’t give up, though. All he could do was push himself faster and prolong the inevitable. _I’m not going down without a fight._

            Dean burst from the shadowy forest into a large, open field. The clearing, to his surprise, was littered with scorched fallen trees, like a fire had taken place there. But the grass grew on and the surrounding trees looked untouched. He had little time to ponder this, the hounds still close behind him. Dean kept running across the field until something caught his ankle. He let out a shriek as he tumbled face-first to the ground. Panic flooded him. The hounds would catch him now, surely. He couldn’t get away. Dean pushed himself up and looked to see what had caught his foot. He let out a scream when he saw what it was: a cross.

            A cross with his name on it.

            Like a burial marker.

            _Am… Am I dead?_

            The howls turned into demonic growls as the hounds reached the clearing. Dean could see their shadows as they slunk toward him. He couldn’t quite make out what they looked like, but he knew that they were there and they were approaching fast. He fingered the pocketknife he always kept on him in case he got mugged and prepared himself for his final battle.

            There were three hounds in total. Three of them and one of him. He didn’t stand a chance. He might be able to kill one, but not all three. Not with a pocketknife. Not on the ground. Dean grit his teeth and watched as the largest one approached, its lips curled back in a snarl. Saliva dripped from its jowls, and Dean swore it looked black instead of clear.

            The hound crouched, preparing to lunge.

            That was when the entire clearing was illuminated in white light.

            Dean had to close his eyes it was so bright. Even closing them was not enough so he had to clamp both of his hands down over his face to shield himself. Even though the light was beyond blinding, Dean could not deny the feeling of relief that swept over him. Somehow, he knew that he was safe now. He knew that whatever this light was, it was here to protect him from those creatures.

            He heard the hounds’ high-pitched yelps and squeals of pain from the light. And then, it all stopped. The light disappeared and the clearing went completely silent.

            Dean opened his eyes slowly and saw a man standing just a few feet in front of him. The man faced where the hounds had just been moments ago, and were now gone. He wore a long, tan trench coat with black trousers. Dean slowly pushed himself so he was sitting up and stared at the man—his mysterious savior. Without warning, the man turned to face him, and Dean was struck breathless by the sight. Two blue eyes stared into green, and in that moment, Dean felt like he’d become weightless. Every care in the world he had disappeared. All he could do was stare at this blue-eyed, raven-haired man. The stranger seemed just as surprised and taken aback by this encounter as Dean was.

            That was when Dean saw them—the two, large, shadowy wings protruding from his back.

 

            Dean woke with a start. He jolted upright in bed, gasping for air. His body was drenched in sweat and the T-shirt and boxers he wore were soaked and sticking to his body. His muscles ached as though he’d just gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. It was all he could to do get out of bed and stagger toward the bathroom.

            The first thing he did was run a cold shower. He stripped off his sweaty clothes and looked at himself in the mirror. He noticed bags under his eyes from the rough sleep. His scruff was coming in which meant he’d have to shave in the next few days. As Dean studied his face, he couldn’t help but remember the blue-eyed man in his dream. _The angel…_

            Where had that dream come from?

            He’d had nightmares before, but never like that. Never that vivid. Never being chased by hounds—and that was another thing; where had he gotten the word hound? Hound was such an ancient word. Why didn’t he think they were dogs or wolves? Why did he immediately assume hounds? And who was the man? The mysterious blue-eyed angel that struck him breathless?

            Dean stumbled into the shower and spent a good half hour standing under the cool spray, not even bothered when he begins to shiver a little. He tried to distract himself, but his mind kept going back to that pair of blue eyes and those dark, shadowy wings.

            “Dean!” a voice came from outside the door. It was followed by a loud banging. “The hell you doin’ takin’ a shower at three in the morning?!” the Southern accent of his roommate, Benny Lafitte, blared through the door.    “The rattlin’ pipes woke me up!”

            With a sigh, Dean turned off the water. He got out, his muscles still aching from his rough sleep. Wrapping his waist in a towel, he opened the door to see an irritated Benny. The man’s short brown hair was mussed and standing almost straight up from sleep. “Sorry, Ben,” Dean muttered tiredly. He rubbed his still dripping face as he tried to string together coherent sentences. “I had a bad dream and just needed to take a shower to clear my head.” _Although it didn’t really work._

            Benny’s look softened a little. “I get it, pal. I was just havin’ a hell of a good dream with some hot blond chick—I was really pissed you woke me up from that.”

            Dean forced a grin. Benny had been his roommate his freshman year of college. When the two boys met, they immediately hit it off and had been roommates ever since. Even though they had both moved off campus now and were in an apartment, they shared the rent and both worked to pay the bills. “Sorry,” Dean said again. “You can go back to sleep now; I’m done for the most part.”

            His friend nodded. “I’d give you a pat on the back or somethin’ but you’re drippin’ wet, bud.” He let out a muffled laugh before turning and retreating back to his room.

            When Benny was gone, Dean sighed. He quickly toweled off and went back to his bedroom. Pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, Dean laid down on the bed and pushed the blankets off to the side. He stared at the ceiling, his mind somewhere else. It had been almost a month since Sammy’s graduation, and about two weeks since his own. He was a real man now with a degree and everything. He didn’t need to be tormented by stupid nightmares like this. _It’s just one fucked up dream_ , Dean thought to himself. _It won’t happen ever again. Don’t let it get to you_.

            He forced himself to close his eyes, but in the darkness, all he could imagine were those blue eyes.

 

            “Adam.”

            He heard the voice before he saw who it belonged to. The voice alone made Adam shudder—he just knew it was something dark, something twisted, something that was not human. Moments later, a pair of yellow eyes opened in the shadows. Adam stared, his breath now coming in rapid gasps as fear clutched at his heart.

            “Go away!” he hissed, trying to back up. All around him was pure blackness, as though he were trapped in an endless void.

            A chuckle came in response. “Why should I, Adam?” the voice queried. “I’m not a threat to you. I’m your friend.”

            He was breaking out in a sweat now. His legs were trembling. “I said _leave!_ I want nothing to do with you!”

            “You haven’t even heard me out yet,” the voice replied petulantly. “Just listen to what I have to say? Please, I need your help, Adam.”

            “Stay away from me!”

            This was a dream. It had to be a dream. Adam began to pinch himself. He pinched hard up and down both of his arms, but he wouldn’t wake. Then, he began to dig his nails into his flesh, trying desperately to wake up. He clawed at his arms until he saw blood beading from the scratches. _Wake up, wake up! This is a dream. This is a dream. This is just a dream. Wake up, Adam. Wake up._

            He couldn’t explain the fear, or the sense of dread he felt in his very core. All he knew was that every instinct he had was telling him to stay away from those glowing yellow eyes.

            “Adam! _Adam!_ ”

            A new voice.

            Adam was shaken awake by a pair of strong hands. When his eyes opened and fully focused, he saw his father’s face inches from his. John’s green eyes quickly scanned over Adam before he pulled the boy into a hug. Adam hugged him back warily, and that’s when he saw his mother and Sam standing in the doorway. Mary’s hand was covering her mouth and there were tears going down her cheeks. Sam was in the threshold, staring at his brother in horror.

            _What are they so worried about?_ he wondered.

            When John pulled away, Adam looked down at himself and saw that his arms were covered in scratches that were bleeding. He jumped at the sight and then began to shake. _Was… was it real?_

            “What happened?” John demanded in a low, strained voice. “Adam, for the love of God, what happened?”

            “I… I was having a nightmare,” was all Adam could think to say. What else could he do? Tell his already terrified family that he saw a man with bright yellow eyes and was trying to wake up?

            John got off the bed and looked at Mary. “Should… Should we call an ambulance or something?”

            “NO!” Adam quickly shouted. He instinctively covered his arms only to wince at the contact. “It’s not that bad… I don’t need to go to the hospital, they’ll think I’m suicidal or something and I’m not! It was just a nightmare, I promise.”

            For a moment, both of his parents looked hesitant. Then, Mary wiped her eyes. “It’s fine, John… I’m going to go get something to… clean up the blood with.”

            John nodded and watched her go. That left Adam, John, and Sam left in the room. Adam gulped, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Sam, why don’t you go back to bed, son?” John suggested.

            “Adam,” Sam said, ignoring his father’s suggestion.

            Adam looked up at his older brother, feeling more self-conscious than ever. _I guess I’m finally getting that attention now,_ he thought bitterly.

            “You okay?” Sam asked. Adam didn’t miss the way his brother’s voice cracked, or the look of fear in his eyes.

            He felt terrible for putting his family through this, and he hadn’t even had any control over what he was doing. Adam forced himself to nod and looked at his bedsheets, willing away tears. He heard footsteps as Sam left the room, presumably going back to his own bed. More footsteps replaced his as Mary reentered, carrying a bowl of warm water and a washcloth.

            “John,” she said softly. “Please go check on Sam. I’m worried about him.”             Her husband nodded dutifully and left the room to do as she asked. When John had left, Mary got up and closed the bedroom door. Adam watched her, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. She then came over to him, setting the bowl on his bedside table. “Let me see those scratches,” she murmured, trying to be soothing.

            Slowly, Adam extended his arms so she could look at the wounds. He heard her breath hitch as she looked at the long, bloody scratches.

            “Adam,” she whispered. Her voice was quiet, but had a gravity to it. Whatever she was about to say was very serious. Adam looked at her expectantly. “Are you sure you did this to yourself?”

            “In my dream I scratched myself to try to make myself wake up,” he confessed bashfully.

            “You were screaming,” Mary informed him. “That’s why we all came running in. When we came in, you weren’t scratching yourself at all. Your arms were pinned at your sides.”

            That made Adam freeze. He looked up at her with wide eyes. “What? But then… how did? How did I get these?”

            Mary didn’t reply for a while. Instead, she worked on wiping away the blood with the damp washcloth. A minute later, she let out a low sigh. “They look almost like…” she trailed off. Just by the way she spoke, Adam knew that her mind was elsewhere, focusing on something else entirely.

            “Mom.” His voice squeaked when he spoke. He hated it. He sounded like he was a little boy again, afraid of the monster in his closet and begging his mommy for protection. “I saw something in my dream…”

            She looked up at him, her lips pursing into a thin line. He could see she was dying to know what he was talking about, but she held it back. A part of her didn’t really want to know—this was her son, after all; she didn’t want to think about the bad things that could happen to him. “What did you see, Adam?”

            “I… I heard a voice… and I saw eyes,” he murmured. “But… they weren’t normal eyes.”

            “What do you mean they weren’t normal eyes?” she pressed, albeit softly.

            “They were… They were yellow.”

            In the seventeen years that Adam knew his mother, he had never seen her react the way she did in that moment. She completely froze. Slowly, her head turned up to meet his. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

            “His eyes were yellow.”

            For a moment, Mary Winchester looked like she was going to be sick. The grip she had on Adam’s wrist was painfully tight as she gripped it with white knuckles. It was beginning to hurt him.

            “Mom,” Adam whispered. “Mom, that… that hurts.”

            Immediately, she let go of his arm. Mary blinked a few times before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, honey… I just… I didn’t expect you to say that.”

            “What’s wrong?” Adam pressed. He knew just by the look on her face that something wasn’t right. Her reaction, the look of fear—she knew what his dream meant. She had to.

            Mary picked up the washcloth again and returned to washing his arms. “Don’t… don’t worry about it, angel,” she soothed.

            Even though Adam didn’t believe her, he didn’t push it. It took Mary just a few minutes to finish up cleaning his arms. When she was done, she kissed Adam’s forehead. “Don’t be worry about that dream,” she murmured. “Try to get some more sleep, okay? The angels are watching over you, after all.”

            Her words perplexed him. When he was little and scared of a horror movie he’d watched, Mary would tuck him in and kiss his head. She would always tell him and his brother the same thing when they were scared. “ _The angels are watching over you._ ” In that moment, he wondered why he decided to say that now. Was it just to soothe him like she did before? Or was it something else?

            “The angels are watching over you,” Mary said again, giving him another kiss.

            Adam forced himself to lay back down, but he knew he was not going to sleep again any time soon. Mary gave him small smile before getting up and walking toward the door. For a moment, her footsteps paused. Adam glanced up to see his mother standing a foot away from the door, staring at the wall near the closet. He watched her curiously, wondering what was going through her head. She was staring as though something was there… He remembered that his room used to be the nursery. Dean and Sam had both stayed in his room when they were children. Since Adam was the youngest, he got to stay in there while Sam and Dean were booted out to rooms of their own.

            Mary’s shoulders sagged as she let out a breath she’d been holding. Without another word, she exited the room, leaving Adam’s bedroom door open.


	4. Summer Antics

            “Sam, why are you so gloomy all of a sudden?” Brady asked, giving his friend a playful shove. The two of them sat on a bench in the Lawrence City Park. They were in a more remote section of the park by the trails. People rarely came back to that section, and when they did they were hardly upstanding citizens. A lot of them looked like drug dealers, or at least that’s what Sam thought when he saw them. However, they were a seldom occurrence. Usually, he and Brady had this section of the woods to themselves.

            He didn’t know how to answer Brady’s question, so he didn’t say anything. Bird songs trilled overhead and he heard the scuttling of little critters in the underbrush. Sam was glad for the background noise; pure silence unnerved him. He could feel Brady’s eyes on him, but did his best to ignore his fiery gaze. It had been almost a week since he’d been awoken by Adam screaming. He’d leapt out of bed and run to his little brother’s room only to find him clawing at his own arms, blood staining the sheets. Sam shuddered at the memory. Since then, Adam had hardly slept at all, and when he did, it was never in his room. Sam would come home and find his baby brother asleep on the couch or on the floor sometimes. When it was time for bed, Adam would go to his room and Sam would hear him all night. Occasionally he paced, other times he’d play videogames. Either way, Adam hadn’t slept in his room in a week. He hadn’t been getting that much sleep at all.

            Sam was worried—worried was an understatement. A few days after the incident, he’d called Dean. His older brother was just as concerned, but there was nothing either of them could do. Sam had tried to talk to Adam about what happened—what his nightmare was about—but his brother never gave him a straight answer.

            “Hello?” Brady asked. He nudged him again. “Earth to Sam.”

            He let out an irritated sigh and shot Brady a warning look. “Not now, Brady.”

            “Sheesh, who put a stick up your ass?” 

            Sam glowered at him with dark eyes.

            “C’mon, you were valedictorian. This is your last summer of no responsibility before you go away to college! At least try to have a good time,” the blond boy encouraged. Sam watched as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Brady pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth. Then, he extended the pack toward Sam. “Want one?”

            Sam didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either.

            “Come on, try one,” Brady said, pulling one out for Sam and giving it to him.

            He took it hesitantly. Sam held it like it was a weapon or something he needed to be afraid of. He’d never smoked anything before and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to start. Brady put the pack away and then pulled out a lighter. Sam watched as Brady lit his own cigarette. “You need to put it in your mouth before I light it,” Brady told him. He looked at Sam with expectant eyes.

            Sam slowly brought the cigarette to his lips and balanced it between his lips. Brady brought the lighter up to the end of it. When it was lit, Sam took an experimental inhale. The moment he did so, he began to cough. He quickly took the cigarette out of his mouth and began to hack up pale gray smoke. Sam grimaced as the taste of tobacco hung in his mouth. He felt kind of nauseous. Brady laughed.

            “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done,” Sam grumbled, handing the cigarette over to his friend.

            “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” Brady chuckled. He took the cigarette nonetheless and set it on the bench between them. “Do you feel better?”

            Sam gave him another glare. “Worse, actually. Now my lungs hurt. I probably have cancer now.”

            Brady took another puff. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Will you tell me what’s going on now? I’m genuinely concerned, Sam.”

            He let out a small sigh. “It’s my brother, Adam.”

            “The younger one?”

            “Yeah… He… He isn’t sleeping good, that’s all.”

            “Not sleeping good?” Brady repeated. “So he’s an insomniac. He’ll fall asleep eventually.”

            “No, I mean…” Sam paused, biting his lip. How much was even appropriate to say? He needed to talk about it with someone other than Dean. Dean had enough stuff to worry about without being pestered by his little brother. “He has these nightmares, I guess… And they seem really vivid. They’re so bad he… he hurts himself in his sleep.”

            Brady let out a low whistle. “Damn. Does he ever say what’s in those dreams?”

            “Well… he’s never told _me_ , but I heard him tell my mom the first night he hurt himself really bad,” Sam confessed. He hadn’t been proud of sneaking down the hall to eavesdrop on Adam and his mother, but he had to know. He needed to know what was wrong with his baby brother. He thought that maybe, if he knew what it was, he could help… but he had no idea how he could ever help something that was purely of Adam’s own imagination. “He sees this man… with yellow eyes. And I guess the man… makes him feel really anxious and uncomfortable. Sometimes, I’ll come home and find him passed out on the couch or something, and he’ll be talking in his sleep… saying stuff like ‘I won’t do it. I won’t kill anyone.’ Sometimes, I’ve heard him say ‘I won’t kill Sam.’ I just… It’s really freaking me out.”

            His friend was quiet for a long time then. “Well… you being freaked out is understandable… Maybe you should… I don’t know… Maybe he should see a psychiatrist or something?”

             Sam shrugged. “I don’t know… I mean… When the summer’s over, I leave for Stanford. I mean… Dean’s not too far away, but even then… I’m worried. How can I go half way across the country when I know that my own brother is being tormented like this?”

            “Hey, Sam.” Brady put a firm hand on his shoulder as though to steady him. “None of this is your fault, so don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Adam will be fine—I’m sure of it.” He tossed the smoldering butt of his cigarette onto the dirt path before them and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Sam resisted the urge to cough and turned his head away, struggling to find clean air to breathe. “Now, come on. I wanna go see that new movie—what’s it called?”

            “Um… didn’t _Pearl Harbor_ come out a week ago or so?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes as Brady stood up. The sunlight framed him, making it difficult to see his face. “But isn’t that some shitty love story?”

            Brady shrugged. “At least there should be explosions.”

            Sam rolled his eyes at his friend’s logic. “Whatever, fine. We better leave then if we wanna catch the first ten minutes.” He got to his feet and let out a small sigh. Brady was right, in a way. He shouldn’t beat himself up over something he didn’t have control over, right? _This is my last summer before college… before adulthood. I need to make it count... Adam or no Adam._

 

            Dean got out of his ’67 Chevrolet Impala with a smile on his face. Benny got out of the passenger’s side and the two men made their way up to some dive bar. When they opened the door, they were met with a few friendly salutations, some blank stares, and even a few glares. Dean just shrugged it off and waltzed up to the bar. “Whiskey,” he informed the man behind the counter.

            “Make that two,” Benny added in his thick, Southern drawl.

            Dean never thought that he’d gain any friends from his college experience. He was the kind of guy who loved to go to the party and have a bunch of casual friends. Real friends were a rarity in Dean’s life. For the majority of his life, he relied only on his family, and that was all he needed. However, when he went to college, he realized his family was not around as much as they used to be. Benny was his roommate freshman year, and the two hit it off right away. Benny was completely alone, having come up from Louisiana to study at the college. Dean formed an unlikely friendship with the southern boy, and Dean came to think of him as a brother. Even after they both moved out of the college dorms, they stuck together and got an apartment.

            The two had a few shots, both egging each other on. Dean began to feel warm and fuzzy inside after a while. He found himself smiling at the silliest of things. When the bell above the bar’s door rang, Dean turned to see who entered. A small group of women entered, and one in particular caught his eye. She was toward the back of the pack, but was undoubtedly the most beautiful of all of them. She had long, raven hair and olive-toned skin. Her eyes were large, brown, and found Dean after only a few moments.

            Dean nodded his head, giving her a warm smile. The woman smiled shyly back before looking down, clearly embarrassed that he caught her looking at him. He chuckled to himself and turned around back to toward the bar. Benny was glancing over at him with an arched eyebrow. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them. The group of women sat down at the other end of the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched the one who caught his eye. She was quieter than the rest and preferred cocktails while the other girls drank beers and martinis. Of course, Dean thought she was gorgeous, but the more he watched her, the more he noticed that there was a subtler, gentler beauty about her. The way she smiled at one of her friends, or how she blushed whenever she made eye contact with him from across the bar.

            An hour after the girls arrived, a few of them headed off toward the lady’s room, but the one Dean had been watching stayed. Dean gave Benny a pat on the shoulder before rising to his feet. He made his way over to the girl and slid onto the barstool beside her. “Your next round’s on me, got it?” he said, giving her a sly smirk.

            The woman grinned shyly at him before looking down at her glass. “I was wondering when you were gonna come over here—you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

            Dean chuckled a bit. “I couldn’t just ditch my friend right away,” he offered in explanation. “Although it was a tempting thought.”

            She grinned. “My name’s Lisa.”

            “Call me Dean,” he replied with a smirk.

            The two talked for a while, had a few shots, and Dean thought things were going pretty well. _Damn is she a bombshell,_ he thought, looking her up and down. She looked even better after a copious amount of alcohol. “Wanna get outta here?” he asked after about an hour and several more drinks. His words were slurring a little. Everything felt fake around him, as though he was in a simulation. The feeling was almost euphoric, but also terrifying deep down. He didn’t have a lot of control over his limbs and his coordination was like that of a child learning how to walk.

            Lisa gave him a wide smile and nodded. “Sure. My place?”

            He felt giddy… Hell, he eve giggled when she asked that. “Hell yeah.”

            The two of them made their way out to the Impala. Dean’s responsible side told him not to get in the driver’s seat—walk to her house or have Benny drive them. _Nothing’s gonna happen,_ he rationalized as he slid into the Impala. He watched Lisa as she put on her seat belt. It registered in his mind that he should do the same, but his hands simply didn’t obey. He started the engine and slowly rolled out of the parking lot. “Where to?”

            She gave him the instructions as they made their way through the backroads that were almost completely empty. Dean managed to stay on the road, but had a hard time staying in his lane. He’d drift across the center line and then jerk back over. Even with Baby’s bright lights on, it was a dark night and hard to see. No moon. They went down a dip in the road, and Dean swerved to the center. He didn’t notice the headlights shining on the other side of the hill. When he reached the top of the hill, he heard the horn of the other car blaring. Lisa screamed and then the impact hit him. He was flung forward violently and felt his bones crack as he slammed into the windshield. Glass shattered and rained down on his head. His body kept going, the momentum carrying him out onto the hood of the Impala. He heard the crunch as both cars curled up like accordions.

            He rolled off the roof of the Impala and hit the road. On impact, he heard the snap of his arm, but the alcohol in his blood stream dulled the pain. Even though is senses may have been fuzzy, in that moment, Dean’s mind was completely clear. After hiding the pavement, he rolled a few times before coming to a creaking halt. Then, the pain hit him full force. He felt the blood rush from the wounds inflicted by the glass. He could feel the shooting agony in his arm and his ribcage. Everything hurt, and there was this awful sound that sounded like a dying animal. Then, Dean realized: _he_ was making that sound. _He_ was the dying animal in question.

            _I need to get up… Lisa… I have to check on Lisa,_ he thought, although the words strung together even in his mind. He tried to roll over but was mean with searing pain. Experimentally, he moved the arm that wasn’t broken. The strain hurt his ribs, but the action was doable. He carefully put it down on the pavement in an effort to push himself up. His strength was gone, though. His arm didn’t work the way he wanted it to. That’s when he felt the hot liquid seep around his good hand. _What the…?_ He brought his hand up to his face and saw it had been painted crimson by his own blood.

            _Fuck_.

            Dean’s mind left Lisa. It left the people in the other car. It left himself. All he could think about was his family—his father, his mother, Sammy, Adam. _I’m going to die here,_ he thought. _I’m going to die in a pool of my own blood. I won’t get to see Adam graduate from high school. I won’t get to see Sammy get his diploma from Stanford. I won’t get to see mom and dad grow old. I won’t be there when Sammy and Adam get married… when they have kids of their own… I’m gonna miss it. I’m gonna miss all of it_.

            _God…_

            He wasn’t a praying man. He knew his mother was, but Dean didn’t believe in all that angel crap. If angels were real, they would help people—protect them. They’d be guardians and they would be there for humans like his mother always said they were. _There are no angels… And there are no angels coming to save me. But…_

            Dean closed his eyes. The pain was dulling now—a constant ache but not as terrible as it had been just moments ago. When he opened them, he felt the tears run down his cheeks. _God… Angels… whoever’s out there… Whoever’s listening… Please…_ He thought about asking them to save him—to help… But he couldn’t bring himself to. _He_ did this. It was his fault, and his alone. _Look after Sammy and Adam. Keep them safe for me… I fucked up and… and I can’t be there to protect them. Please help them._ _Please…_

            He closed his eyes again, and this time, he felt himself slip away into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely.


End file.
